


Speak Softly

by MarvelsMenace



Series: The Seven Sins of Matthew Murdock [6]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelsMenace/pseuds/MarvelsMenace
Summary: Matt has hated lazy days ever since the accident.





	1. Chapter 1

Before the accident, Matt had loved weekends.  Cereal with his dad and sometimes cartoons before they went to the gym, watching his dad in the ring until one of the older patrons humored him by passing off the comics from the paper weekend paper.  They would stay there for hours before returning home, his father to go over the match schedules, while Matt would take to his books, thankful for his choice in being able to pick the subject, as long as he was learning something.

After the accident, after the death of his father, just like everything in his life, the idea of relaxation was turned on its head.  He was singled out for his blindness, excused for even the simplest of tasks, until he began to hate idleness, the stillness in his body opening up the flimsy doorways blocking his hyped-up senses until he was up and pacing for control.  Then Stick entered the picture, and the idea that if you were doing nothing, you could be training was beaten into him until being still sent apprehension down his spine, goading him to find something to do. 

Foggy helped him fix that in college, forcing Matt to take a step back once in a while for his sanity if there wasn’t some impending academic doom lingering overhead.  A mental health day for himself, if not for Foggy’s patience.  He had literally laid him flat and napped on top of his back once to keep him still, that had been risky, but the neutral face of a sleeping Matt not even ten minutes later had been worth it.  Foggy had told him something his mom taught him about kids when he started getting nieces and nephews. 

“You know, until they’re still they’ll just fight sleep.  That’s why you swaddle them.”

And the threat of swaddling him was not a onetime occurrence.  Foggy swore he would go buy a king-sized bed sheet for it if he had to. 

Now though, there are days where he doesn’t set an alarm, where he lets his battered body make the decision on when to wake and what to do.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes he wakes up with a screaming within him and he knows that he won’t be doing anything that day.  Just an overwhelming sensation of _too much_ that he can barely think past.  Carrying voices, overwhelming combination of smells, vibrations rising through the floor.  Before Foggy, these days meant pacing the walls of his apartment, forcing himself to try to meditate through the disorientation, working himself as much as he could without a heavy bag until his muscles are shaking with exhaustion and he was able to fall into the void of an exhausted sleep.

But those days are easier now, when he wakes up to the all to oppressive noise of the city, his usual walls and levees broken down, he can calm himself listening to Foggy’s breathing, to his steady heart rate until he wakes up and can face Matt’s ramrod straight spine and sigh.

“I know I’ve told you to wake me up when it’s like this.”

He whispers when Matt is like this, a soft caress of words that he nods to, hunching because he had done something wrong again.  Foggy smooths a hand down his back before he leaves him in bed and sets about his process that he’s got down so well he’s doing it half asleep.  Water is boiled for tea while he collects the ear plugs from their case in the bedside drawer, helping Matt slip them into his ears from his tightly curled fetal position of sensory overload.  A slightly uncoordinated shuffle of feet from the bedroom before he’s gifted a kiss to his forehead while he puts the tea in a small thermal cup and moves them to the small sanctuary he’s managed to create in the middle of busy Hell’s Kitchen.

_The after the first time he had seen Matt deal with this he had flat out refused a repeat of his shitty comping mechanisms of pacing and existing in pain.  How in the hell Matt had hidden this shit in college, he had no idea, but there’s a part of him that remembers Matt vanishing for the whole of a day before coming back with the sunset only to pass out on his nearly too small bed._

_Foggy had gone out and bought an alternative down comforter as soon as he felt comfortable leaving the barely functioning adult by himself.  From there he had all too frivolously acquired a stack of blankets of various textures, velour and flannel, crushed cotton and something called minky, some light weight and airy while others were so plush he wanted to sink his fingers into it._

_Matt had been still napping when he got back to the loft, so he proceeded to take control of the empty closet/shrine that usually held Jack’s trunk while he washed the things with Matt’s detergent, lining the floor with the comforter and a spare silk top sheet as soon as they dried before he piled in the blankets into some sort of technicolor nest of fabric._

_Matt had tried using his nose to figure out what Foggy had gotten up to when he was sleeping, but he just smelled like his soap and the sort of smell that collects while walking around the city.  The first step onto the plush jumble under his feet was odd, and he had to double check with his disorientation that they were in fact, still in the apartment.  Foggy had settled himself on his knees and led Matt into the space like a wild creature trying to court a potential mate._

_His fingers were almost immediately engrossed with touching everything, always straying back to ground himself on the familiar fabric of Foggy’s clothing.   This was greater than any gift he had ever been given.  Later, when he cried into Foggy’s neck as they curled on that not so hard floor, he promised him that they are happy tears._

Now he helps Matt fold into the familiar space, just big enough for the both of them to curl together after Foggy has moved in as well, pulling the door nearly closed with the toes of one foot.  Matt slips on a bulky pair of construction level ear muffs kept in the corner to cancel out the rest of the noise that manages to filter through.  He thinks the space is too oppressive for Matt to use alone, and it warms him that he has enough trust for Foggy to take over watching him as his walls crumble. 

Foggy settles into one of the various pillows he’s added over times that they’ve used the small room, talking a cautious sip of his barely flavored tea, offering the least amount of odor, as Matt snuggles into his side, placing a hand over where he knows he can feel the steady beat of his heart.  He dozes in an uneasy sort of nap for a time as Matt traces patterns and shapes on his front, breathing quiet in the small space.

His ass is numb by the time he wakes up from his just got out of bed nap, but Matt is an at ease sort of stillness and snoring on his front like a congested kitten, so there’s not much he can complain about.  Getting him to be still, much less sleep is a feat in of itself.  Foggy shifts his neck, the crackling of aging bones a reminder that maybe he should invest in a twin mattress they can chop up to fit in here under the comforter.

Matt stirs as his pillow moves, the quiet too thick upon him as he tries to remember where he was before he fell asleep.  There’s a far-off _thud thud_ that beats in time with something under his palm, and he remembers Foggy.  He slips the bulky things off of his ears, finding that the city isn’t so loud in his head anymore, more like a background buzz on the other side of the inner ear plugs.  After some wiggling, he’s more or so draped on Foggy’s front, close enough to smell tea leaves on his breath, but still be just shy of kissable.

“Hi.”

Foggy chuckles, chin nearly touching his chest as he tries to look at the other.

“Feeling better?”

He squirms closer until he’s in Foggy’s lap, the softness of his thighs cradling his ass.  He loves Foggy’s body, how it just holds him even without his hands.  Calloused fingers smooth along his jaw until he’s close enough to kiss him, sensitive fingers picking up every hair from Foggy’s weekend of not shaving.  Matt had had to talk him into it, assuring him that he wasn’t opposed to the feel of it against him when they kissed, or feeling it other places.  They aren’t kissing long before his dick is interested, and Foggy’s too the way he’s shifting below him.   

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He laughs, scraping his teeth along the oh so soft skin of Foggy’s throat.

“You don’t seem to be having any complaints.”

It sounds like he’s talking underwater with the ear plugs in, but he isn’t ready to remove them just yet, appreciating the steady thrum of sensations he can take in just by touching Foggy’s bare skin.  Matt moves back just a bit, one hand trailing down the soft material of Foggy’s shirt to palm his erection through his thin sleep pants.  God, the noise that Foggy makes below him, he’s pretty sure he could come to that sound alone if it was drawn out long enough.  He’s pulled into another kiss as he strokes lazily, the slight burn of scraping facial hair on skin sending him rocking against Foggy.  He had slept in a shirt and boxer briefs last night, and he can feel the heat on his dick from between the two layers of material as their shafts brush against each other.

Their kiss is open mouthed now, slow dance of tongue with the occasional breath of laughter following the clicking of teeth.  Matt does away with his shirt on the next breath, the material becoming too much on his skin as he pushes closer to use nimble fingers to do away with the closed buttons of Foggy’s shirt.

Foggy is a few beats behind before he realizes what Matt is after, something that he wouldn’t be opposed to honestly, but might be difficult in the cramped space.  He lets Matt lead though, hands playing against the newly exposed skin of his shoulders and below, dragging just the edge of a nail lightly across the raised line of a scar.  There’s a hiss against his jaw, quickly followed by a sharp bite of retaliation that stings just a bit too good. 

“Matty, this is great, but I am not prepared for this.”

Matt is illuminated before him like a flat shadow with the light at his back, the sunlight soft behind him from the crack in the door.  It’s the only thing that helps him tell, other than the shifting of weight, that Matt is leaning to the side, rustling under blankets until he is upright and kissing him again, pressing something into Foggy’s hand.  He knows what it is immediately, super senses or not.  He bites at Matt’s bottom lip, already kiss swollen and spit slick before speaking.  Honestly, he can’t say he’s surprised. 

“Matthew, why are there sex things in the quiet closet?  Because I sure as shit did not leave them here.”

The words are a slight jumble at the end, the grinding of the body above him causing a stutter as the friction increases.  Matt stills though, and he likes to think that he knows Matt well enough to assume his cheeks are colored high with a blush, the fact that he outed himself and is now caught dawning on him.

“I like when you smell like me, and it already smells like you in here, but now it can smell like _us_.”

Sex has always been a wash of sorts for his senses, something reliable that can take all the outside sounds and smells and shove them beyond his peripherals to bring him back to the present, back to himself and his body.  Somedays it’s all too much to get to that point, and he needs a break after waking up before he can get to the point of even attempting it, trying to block it all out, but here and now with Foggy it’s all too easy to cut himself off from the millions of jumbled voices on the streets.

He tries to steer things back to where he wants them, like moving on with getting Foggy inside him, but thumbs are pressing into the bones of his hips and he shifts against the grip until it tightens more and he’s panting from the feel of it.  There is salt and arousal in the air, heavy in such a small space that he can taste it, wants to full his lungs with it.  His voice has a whine to it that pulls in his throat as he leans close enough to lick Foggy’s chest.

“Let me ride you Fogs, please?”

 If that doesn’t counter all the arguments Foggy had, they were like grasping at straws anyways, getting Matt to outright ask for anything was like pulling teeth.  Matt can probably smell his resolve breaking because he shoves himself closer, and Foggy’s back is literally against a wall, trapping him against a very horny Matt Murdock. 

“Because you were good and asked.  _You’re so good for me Matty_.”

Matt groans into his mouth, shuddering once, then again as Foggy’s hand cards through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp.  Eager hands push his shirt from his shoulders, and Foggy’s pretty sure it’s going to be lost forever in the jumbled nest of blankets.  He lets his grip lift enough to free himself from the sleeves before he’s back to touching Matt, toying with the waistband of his boxers.

 Soft finger pads dragging through the line of coarse hair from his navel to, continuing as it disappears beneath the strip of material.  Heat is rising off Matt’s skin, and he moves until his knees are bracketing Foggy’s thighs, it takes some balancing and Foggy’s hands on his sides for balance, but then he’s free from his boxers, cock bobbing heavy and erect.  Foggy shuffles below him, and when he guides Matt back to his previous place, the barrier of his pajama pants is gone, the dusting of soft hair on his thighs supplying another sensation against his sensitive skin.  Their cocks brush hot and velvet soft against each other, pressed against their bodies as Matt wiggles closer with a small noise.

“Going to work you open nice and slow.  That okay?”

Foggy knows he doesn’t need to ask, not with the eager twitch of Matt’s hips, the wet panting of air against his shoulder.  He’s apparently taking too long to locate the lube, as Matt finds it for him, pressing it into his fumbling hand.  The substance is cool on his fingers when he finally cracks the bottle open, distracted when he shifts back to take Foggy’s nipple in his mouth, tonguing and sucking until the flesh pebbles under his tongue. 

Matt loses his focus with the first brush of Foggy’s finger against his hole teasingly, circling the ring of muscle before he presses forward.  The man above gasps, pushing back against to take the intrusion readily.  The slight burn is perfect as he rocks himself down, mouth busy kissing its way over to take Foggy’s nipple into his mouth with a grip of tetth.  Only a few thrusts later and he’s stroking his prostate with two timid fingers, chuckling when Matt can’t decide between fucking himself harder on them or pressing himself closer to Foggy’s sweat slick torso.  Each brush of skin under his palms is another pull away from the sensations of the outside world currently crawling up his nerves.

Foggy moves his grip from Matt’s hip, dragging soft fingers up until he’s rubbing a tight circle over one of his nipples before lightly scraping the pebbled skin with his nails.  He works up to three digits, stretching him wide, moving his free hand to the small of his back, giving Matt a small break as he withdraws before going back with a firm and direct brush against his prostate that has Matt’s back curving like a drawn bow.  There’s time for one pounding beat of his heart before his chest is painted with sticky ropes of Matt’s release.  He’s panting when Foggy pulls his fingers from him, that fuzzy warmth of an orgasm already building into a burning in his gut when he smells the clinical scent of latex. 

“Oh God Foggy.  M’sorry, I need more.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, I’m the opposite of bothered by it.”

Matt squirms closer, sticky fluid getting caught in the hair on his chest as Foggy moves against him.

“Y’ready for me Matt?”

“ _Please._ ”

His knees quake as Foggy helps him to rise, and with that first push into his body a groan leaves him, the heat searing within him as Foggy’s heart pounds in the veins of his cock.  He can feel his heart in him, beating opposite of his own in a thrum that makes him ache.  His dick is half hard again by the time Foggy is seated in him, rocking his hips in gentle twitches that has Matt’s breath hitching. 

“So good for me Matty, you feel so good.”

“ _More_.”

Fucking like this is messy and uncoordinated, but he can hear, can feel Foggy’s laugher along the press of their bodies, the smell of his arousal blooming on his skin and mixing decadently from where Matt’s clock slides slick between them.  Matt palms Foggy’s chest, stiff nipples sliding against his palm as he kneads his body.

“You take me so well Matty, feel so good stretched around my cock.”

A shiver runs through him with the praise, and he bites at whatever part of soft skin he can get under his teeth.  He wants to kiss him but can only manage open mouthed kisses and bites against his jaw and the flesh below, pressing himself harder against the rough thrust from beneath him until there are stars bursting in his sightless eyes.

“Feel so good in my Foggy.  Ah!  Can, Oh God.  Like I can feel you in my chest.”

Foggy’s hands on his hips help him move, and they betray his release as they spasm for a firmer grip, holding Matt down tightly before he’s rutting into him with quick jerks of his hips.  Matt feels the warmth of his release bloom hot in his body down the line of Foggy’s shaft.  He follows him with a few sloppy fists of his cock, all but sobbing into Foggy’s mouth as he comes.   

The smell that permeates the small space is heady, thick with the smell of sweat and release and unshed tears.  He wants to stay here forever.  Soft flannel slides over his skin, cleaning most of the mess away before he can feel Foggy pull away further to clean his own chest.  Matt feels empty as he climbs off of his partner, missing the connection until he can press himself back to the soft chest before him after Foggy ties off the condom, feeling the beat of his slowing heart through his ribs.  His voice is hoarse when he speaks, seeming loud in the silence.

“Thank you.” 

Foggy makes a tired sort of noise of amusement, ruffling his surely hair that feels as tangled as a rat’s nest.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”

Matt smiles as a different sort of warmth fills his chest, wiggling slightly in pleasure.  He pulls back as a cramp starts to grip the muscles of his leg, climbing off Foggy as gracefully as he can with his still pleasure weak legs.  Arms encircle his waist once they are up and out of the closet, love warmed skin of two bodies pressed close.   Matt shifts, and the slickness of remaining lube makes itself known on the back of his thighs.  He grimaces just as Foggy kisses his cheek, drawing a laugh from the other man.  He wrinkles his face again, just to hear him laugh more.

“I’m going to go clean up.”

“Go ahead.  I’ll make some coffee and breakfast and we’ll go back to bed after we get some food in you.”

With things like this, Matt finds he doesn’t mind lazy days so much. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus chapter because a sick Matt has got to be pitiful...

Foggy has really only seen Matt sick once, this span of actual hell conveniently falling on the winter break of their second year in law school.  The flu had been making it’s rounds, and it was bound to catch one, if not both of them, with all of their frat house adventures in close quarters, but Matt had taken the full force of it.  Starting with feeling out of sorts during their last week before break, Matt had woken up the last day of classes flushed with fever and so disoriented that he had had to keep reminding Matt that he was there, and he wasn’t alone. 

Looking back on it, he had to guess that clogged ears had knocked out what little ability to sort of see he had had a handle on at the time.  It had taken all of Foggy’s will power and a call from his mom to make him believe that he wasn’t dying, and that he should _not_ choke him into unconsciousness to easehis death if that was the case.  He ended up recording all of their classes, getting his braille copies from the professors, and stocking up on supplies so that he wouldn’t have to leave the lanky walking death wish personified alone during break. 

Knowing what he knows now, about the accident, his life before college, and all the other factors that make up one (more than kind of) broken Matthew Murdock, Foggy can’t really say he’s even remotely surprised that Matt is literally the worst sick person ever. 

That doesn’t mean it makes him any easier to deal with though.

He’s got a running text going with Claire for how much trouble all of it spins into with Jess, Danny, and Luke involved.  They make memes out of the grainy cellphone pictures people get at night and laugh about them over coffee every now and then.  With Foggy around more to supervise him, she’s more inclined to drug Matt into unconsciousness to keep him out of trouble.  Because, you know, the idiot didn’t learn his lesson when he temporarily lost his hearing, that would make too much fucking sense.

Now though, Matt’s lying on the rug in front of the couch, a pile of blankets haphazardly thrown over him as Foggy sets about getting ready for an appointment at the office.  They’ve been around this argument since last night, but Matt tries again because he’s contrary.

“You’re sure I can’t come?”

Foggy sighs, looking at the pitiful expression peeking out of the saddest blanket fort ever.

“Matt, sweetheart, if you tried walking a straight line you’d be arrested for public intoxication.”

Matt is shaking his head before he even finishes his sentence.

“I’m fine, I can go to work.  My equilibrium is just off.”

“No, you can’t.  You have a fever and Karen is already prepping to Lysol me before I walk in the door.”

He sticks his whole head out from under the blanket to try what he thinks is puppy dog eyes, but Matt is so disoriented he’s more or less trying to guilt trip the windows.

“You told me I couldn’t cancel this appointment.  I’m going to go and meet this new client, and then I’ll be back home with that soup you like from the place on the corner.”

Matt makes a half-hearted grumble before nestling back beneath his cover.  With fluid filled ears and clogged sinuses, he feels better on the floor, taking in the various vibrations of the building and its inhabitants through touch, the passing of cars on the street and the subways below providing weak tremors beneath his hands.  Foggy leaves a mug of tea on the coffee table for him, places a soft kiss against his tousled hair when he sits up.

“Try and get some rest Matty, I’ll be back in a few hours.    Drink your tea and take a nap.”

“I don’t like sleeping by myself.”

It’s a bit of honesty that he doesn’t mean to say, though he’s pretty sure Foggy already knows this for a fact.  Cold medicine has always made him feel fuzzy and disoriented, and not in the fun drunk way of alcohol.

“I know buddy.  A few hours and you and your fever can make me sweat under all the blankets you want.”

“I want a contract for that.”

Foggy laughs as he leaves the apartment, closing the door, and Matt can feel the grating of the lock turning as it connects the door to its frame.  He stretches out back along the floor, fingers sinking into the rug below him.  It muffles some of the vibrations, but not much and he can track Foggy’s steps down the hall through the wooden boards of the floor.  He yawns despite himself, wanting to stave off sleep in pure stubborn refusal, but he’s speculating that Foggy might have given him the night time cold medicine to keep him out of trouble. 

Probably a good idea if he’s honest with himself.

At some point it’s decided that the floor is too hard, despite his curiosity and nosy tendencies.  Matt piles half of his blankets onto the couch to stave off the chill of the leather, dragging the other half as he climbs atop the stack with uneasy feet, settling into a hunched lump of fever warmth.  He manages to sleep, albeit uneasily within his cocoon of blankets.  Fever dreams keep him from sleeping too deeply, the slamming of doors startling him from rest in alarm.

He doesn’t know how long it is before the key is grating in the lock and the hard knock of Foggy’s gait radiates up the legs of the sofa.  He doesn’t notice Matt at first, even jumping lightly as the colored nest moves and a brunet head emerges, face flushed and lines with creases from pressed fabric.  He smiles in a way that screams drunk from too little sleep, and Foggy sets the bag of food he brought down on the table, moving over to smooth a hand against his forehead.  He had hoped with him bundled up that the fever might break on its own, but that was looking less and less likely.

“You’re back.”

“You’re still running a fever.”

Matt isn’t surprised, his skin is itchy, and he swings back and forth from freezing to being stifling hot.  He leans the weight of his head into Foggy’s touch, the coolness of his palm a nice sensation.

“Did you drink your tea?”

“No, because it tasted like grass.”

Foggy looks to the heavens for patience.  He knows Matt’s sense of taste is more than likely fucked, but that tea didn’t hav anything in it that even resembled grass.

“Okay.  Why don’t you bring a blanket, one, and come have some soup?  Then you’re showering because you’re sweaty.”

Matt makes a face and makes an attempt to climb over the back of the couch, quickly stopped by Foggy before he can fall over and break his neck.  He falls onto his back on the cushions and blankets, looking honestly started, and slightly confused that he had ended up in that position.  He rolls off, landing on his hands and knees before all but crawling to the table, one of the softer, knitted blankets draped over his shoulders. 

Foggy smiles at the sight after he’s helped him get settled into a chair, taking a seat at his side in case his balance fails him.  The blanket had been a gift from his grandmother for Matt their first Christmas in law school when she had overheard the boys talking about the shitty heating system.  She had knitted Matt something before the break was up and beamed when he was honestly stunned by the gesture.  Foggy had gotten a stern warning to protect him because he was too precious.  He got his own blanket after he agreed. 

After he eats a satisfactory amount of calories, Foggy bustles Matt off into the shower, settling him on the water warmed tiles with his soap before moving to take care of their leftovers.  The sun is setting by the time Matt is done, skin wrinkly and pruned, flushes with the heat of the water. Foggy runs through with the remaining hot water, washing the feel of the city, even from a minor trip, from himself. 

Matt is just about asleep when he jostles him into taking more cold medicine, helping to hold his glass of water as he washes it all down.  He thinks the fever may be gone, his skin more normal to the touch instead of the blazing warmth it was in the morning.  He glues himself to Foggy as he pulls up the covers. 

“Sorry I couldn’t help today, don’t like being useless.”

Foggy shakes his head, eyes closing as he rubs at Matt’s back.

“What did you need to help me with today?  Nothing.  You needed to help me by resting.”

He makes a tired sort of grumble.

“I napped.”

“I know, but now we’re going to take a long nap, and maybe in the morning you’ll be a bit more grounded.”

“Hope so.  Hate feeling like this.  Useless.”

“You’re not useless.  Heroes need breaks too sometimes.”

Matt’s words are slurring, and he isn’t even able to finish his next statement before he’s snoring against Foggy’s chest.  Foggy yawns, pulling him tighter, and hopes for his sanity as well that Matt will feel better tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [ Tumblr](http://a-marvel-fueled-dumpster-fire.tumblr.com)


End file.
